


hands like small rain

by cloudsandpassingevents



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fluff without Plot, M/M, Wedding Day Jitters, Wedding Fluff, sorry in advance, this is literally the fluffiest pairing i have ever written that's why this is so disgustingly sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 15:04:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6333748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudsandpassingevents/pseuds/cloudsandpassingevents
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Jack is 100% sure he’s about to throw up, pass out, or have a panic attack. Maybe all three at once."</p>
<p>In which Shitty is the world's greatest best man, Jack is a nervous wreck on his wedding day, and Bitty finally gets legal recognition of his right to touch Jack Zimmermann's butt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hands like small rain

**Author's Note:**

> It's technically [pocketcourf's](http://www.pocketcourf.tumblr.com) fault that I wrote this in the first place, because she got me into this fandom hellspiral and then kept encouraging me when I sent her my dumb fic ideas, so you should blame her for whatever this is. Also, it's her birthday, so consider this a present for making me care about dumb fictional hockey boys. You're the worst. Never change.
> 
> A first look is basically when a couple arranges to see each other before the actual wedding ceremony. It's usually more intimate, because there aren't 300 people watching you cry on each other, and I personally think it's adorable seeing people's genuine reactions to seeing the person they love for the first time on their wedding days in a place where they can really let their emotions go. (Please go look up pictures of people's first looks. Really. [Here's some to get started.](http://www.autostraddle.com/wedding-day-first-look-lets-you-share-an-intimate-moment-with-your-babe-310413/) Trust me, you won't be disappointed.)

The night before, Jack sets three alarms; one for 6:00 AM, one for 6:15, and one for 6:30, then texts Shitty, Rans, and Holster separately, telling them to give him a wake-up call at 6:45 if he doesn't text them before then.

He wakes up at 5:13 AM anyways.

Jack stares at the clock exasperatedly, then rolls over onto his back. Closes his eyes and thinks really hard about falling back to sleep, like he can will himself into it.

After a few seconds, he opens his eyes back up, hoping that he maybe fell back asleep and now it's time for him to get up. He rolls over again to look at the clock.

5:14 AM.

With a groan, he rolls back, throwing his arm over his eyes in frustration. _You need to go back to sleep,_ he thinks, but he can’t manage to get comfortable. He rolls over onto his side, sits up, flips his pillow, kicks his blankets off and pulls them back on again. Still nothing.

It’s still only 5:20.

Finally, Jack swings his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing at his eyes and reaching for his running clothes hanging off his bedpost. If he’s too nervous to sleep, he might as well put it to use.

The neighborhood is silent and still when he steps outside, the last stars still twinkling in the sky. Cool air prickles in his throat as he jogs down the street. His breathing is the only sound besides the thump of his feet against the concrete.

At the end of his street, he slows down. For a second, he wants to turn right, head three blocks down to Bitty’s apartment. A part of him desperately wants to run up the stairs, unlock the door and slip into Bitty’s room. Climb into his bed and wrap his arms around Bitty’s waist, listen to the little soft noises he makes in his sleep and press his nose in Bitty’s hair.

It only lasts a second, though, and he turns left instead, feet pounding up the hill that leads away from his house. He has to wait until the wedding to see Bitty. They already agreed on that.

Eight miles later, he finally comes to a stop in front of his house, sweat dripping down his chin and soaking the back of his shirt. His breathing is still shaky even after he walks up and down the block a few times, long past when it should have returned to normal. Part of him wants to go farther, take a few more miles to slow down his thoughts, tire him out enough that he can’t worry, but he can’t; he has to be able to walk during the ceremony later.

He stays out a minute longer anyways, staring at the line of light appearing on the horizon. Then, huffing out another breath, he turns to his house, slowly taking the steps up to the door.

 

\---

 

“Where have you been?” Shitty asks as soon as he walks in.

Jack blinks. Looks at his watch. It’s still only 6:30 AM. He doesn’t think Shitty’s ever woken up before 8:00 in his life.

“I thought you were coming later,” he says.

Shitty shrugs, reaching for his glass. “Knew you were gonna be awake anyways,” he says. “I might as well come and eat your food.” He wrinkles his nose. “You stink, by the way.”

Jack tosses his shirt at Shitty’s head half-heartedly. Shitty easily ducks out of the way. “Thanks,” Jack says as he heads out of the kitchen. “Appreciate your input.”

“Jack Laurent Zimmermann, do not leave your clothes lying on the ground!” he hears as the door closes behind him, a second before the dull thump of fabric hitting the door.

His shower squeaks as he turns it on, freezing water hissing out for a second before it starts to heat up. He waits until the room is filling with steam before he steps in, the hot water leaving red marks where it hits his skin. For a second, he stands motionless, letting it run over him; then he leans forward, resting his palms against the cool tile. Breathes in and out, steadily, and lets the heat work the tension from his shoulders. The mindless beating of the water makes it easy to not think, to quiet everything in his head until his entire world narrows down to the cold against his forehead and the warmth against his hands.

He stays there until the water begins to run cool, then reluctantly peels himself away from where he’s been standing, stepping out of the shower and scrubbing at his hair with a towel. Everything he has to do–get dressed, call his parents, make sure everyone gets to the church on time, find the rings–it all starts to gnaw at the edge of his mind again, and he tosses the towel into the bathtub, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes. _One problem at a time,_ he thinks, reaching for his razor as he runs a hand over his stubble. _It'll be okay._

He's rinsing the foam off his chin when he hears Shitty open the door to his bedroom. “You okay in there, man? Drowning or something?”

“I'm fine,” he calls, and a second later, he hears a thump on the bed. “Shitty, get off my bed.”

“Come and make me,” Shitty calls back.

Rolling his eyes, Jack grabs a towel and wraps it around his waist, giving himself one last once-over in the mirror before pushing the door open. “Shitty. Why are you naked. On _my_ bed.”

Shitty shrugs, looking supremely unconcerned about how he’s sprawled over Jack’s blankets wearing absolutely nothing. “Old habits die hard,” he says. “Besides, I need to get changed eventually.”

Jack opens his mouth, then closes it again. If ten years has taught him anything, it’s that with Shitty, there are only so many arguments he can win.

When he opens his closet to get his own suit out, though, Shitty sits up. “Ah ah ah,” he says. “Breakfast first.”

Jack blinks. “I have to get dressed.”

“It is literally–” Shitty rolls over to look at Jack’s clock. “–fucking 7:03 AM, Jack, we’re fucking getting to the church at 1, okay, you do not need to be dressed right now.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’re not passing out walking down the aisle because of low blood sugar,” Shitty says, nonplussed. “If I have to force that food down your throat myself, I will.” He pauses, then adds, “With your gag reflex, it’s not like it’ll be hard making you swallow, anyways.”

Jack manages to choke on thin air, and Shitty takes advantage of the moment to steer Jack into the kitchen and push him down into a chair. There’s a plate of food in front of him–eggs and toast and some kind of soupy thing in a bowl. “Did you make this?”

“I did, and you better eat every bite of it,” Shitty says, sitting down across the table from him. “As much as I hate sounding like your mother, it’s for your own fucking good.”

“My mother never said that to me,” Jack points out, but he takes the fork anyways, picks up some egg and puts it in his mouth. They’re tasteless; he doesn’t know whether that’s because of Shitty’s cooking or his nerves, though, so he doesn't say anything. The roiling in his stomach make it hard for him to swallow, but Shitty’s right, he’s going to need energy. Still, it’s a relief when he finally finishes all the food, Shitty watching him like a hawk the whole time.

“There,” he says, pushing the plate away. “Happy?”

Shitty looks at his plate critically for a second, then nods self-satisfactorily, standing up. “C’mon,” he says, reaching out to ruffle Jack’s hair and ignoring his yelp of protest. “Let’s go get dressed, then.”

 

\---

 

“Is this tie okay?”

Shitty makes a noise of assent from where he’s lying, already in his pants and dress shirt with his tie draped around his neck. He doesn’t even look up from his phone. “Great.”

“ _Shitty.”_

“We decided it a month ago, remember?” Shitty rolls over until he’s sitting up, tossing his phone onto the pillow. “For the last time, everything’s perfect.” He casts a critical eye over Jack, still standing in front of his mirror in his shirt and boxers, the tie in his hand. “My grandparents would take you to church. That’s how good you look.”

Jack turns back to the mirror. Looks at himself again. He doesn’t look like someone who he’d want to marry. He looks nervous, mostly, and pale and shaky, and maybe a little bit scared. After a second, he drops his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Thanks,” he says, putting the tie back on the dresser. He wants to say more, would normally chirp Shitty for something like that, but he can’t make his brain think at all right now past the dull fog of the anxiety, so he just doesn’t say anything. His hands are shaking. It hadn’t registered before, but he notices it now, trying to button the shirt and missing over and over. _Come on, calm down._

Shitty is watching him from the bed; Jack can feel the pressure of his eyes on his back. After a second, he says, “Turn around.” When Jack does, Shitty stands up and takes the fabric from Jack’s hands, starts buttoning Jack’s shirt himself. “You’re a mess,” he mutters sarcastically. When Jack doesn’t answer, Shitty’s hands pause for a second, right at the collar of the shirt. “Hey,” he says, a note in his voice that Jack doesn’t recognize. “Hey, don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet on me now.”

That manages to surprise a laugh out of Jack, because in all the scenarios that he’s played over in his head about what might happen today–that one genuinely never crossed his mind. “Yeah,” he manages. “Yeah, no, that’s–I’m not, I promise.”

Shitty looks at him again for a second, then sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “Okay,” he says. “We’re doing this shit again.” He closes his eyes. “Do you really think Bitty is going to leave you at the altar? Is he really the dude who’d do that?”

And the thing is–it’s such a stupid question. It’s such a stupid thing for Jack to be worried about. He knows Bitty–Bitty, who’s gentle and worries too much and loves too strongly, without reservation. Jack trusts Bitty, even when he doesn’t trust himself. It’s an irrational fear, although maybe not a surprising one, that Bitty woke up this morning and decided that Jack wasn’t good enough for him after all.

Then again, that’s never exactly kept Jack from worrying about anything.

When he doesn’t say anything, Shitty huffs out another breath. “Alright,” he says, although Jack doesn’t hear any note of irritation in his voice. “Look, he made me promise not to tell you this, but I think you might have an aneurysm if I don’t. I went to his house this morning, right? And–”

“You saw Bitty today?” Jack bites his tongue before the second part of the question that pops into his head– _did he look like he changed his mind–_ comes out.

Shitty rolls his eyes. “I was dropping some shit off, and before I know it, he hears me and drags me inside.” He pauses. “How long has it been since you two saw each other?”

It takes Jack a second. “Not since 2:00 yesterday, I think?”

Shitty stares at him for a second, motionless, then groans, flopping back on the bed. “Jesus,” he says, dragging his hands down his face. “Jesus H. _Christ._ I’m going to vomit.”

“What?”

Shitty lifts his head off the bed, but doesn’t move to sit up. “He dragged me inside, and you know what he has in the kitchen?” He waits a beat, then keeps talking when Jack doesn’t answer. “The entire fucking counter, all the tables. Every single one fucking covered with maple-crusted apple pies. Apparently he misses you and couldn’t sleep and the smell ‘reminds him of you.’” Shitty pauses. “That’s a direct quote, by the way.”

For a moment, Jack can’t speak. He has to bite the inside of his cheek until the tightness in his chest passes and he can take a deep breath again to steady himself. “So, um,” he finally says. “I guess I’m not–I guess he hasn’t changed his mind? About this whole thing.”

He’s not looking up, but he can literally feel Shitty staring disbelieving holes into him. “You–” Shitty starts, before he cuts himself off. “The more important issue,” he says finally, “is that at this rate the only food at your reception will be maple-fucking-crusted apple pies, and I, as your best friend and best man, am telling you right now that even the people who love you most are going to fucking leave if that’s all there is to eat.”

That manages to get a short laugh out of Jack, and he looks down, picking up the tie from the dresser. “I think I can convince Bitty to bake some strawberry cream pies, too,” he says, starting to put it on.

Shitty pauses, considering. “Okay, well. Then you’ll only have one person who stays through your entire wedding.”

Jack smiles a little. “I never did like big parties anyways,” he says, buttoning up his waistcoat and shrugging the coat on before turning to Shitty. “Do I look okay?”

Shitty gives him an appraising once-over, tilting his head a little bit. He shrugs. “I’d marry you any day, man.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Jack says, but he can’t quite keep the corners of his mouth from curving up anyways.

 

\---

 

Shitty spends the next two hours getting everything ready–mostly yelling at people over the phone in his “I-will-sue-the-shit-out-of-you-and-everything-you-own-and-love” lawyer voice that he’s picked up the past few years–which means that Jack has to spend most of it sitting on his bed on his own, fielding texts and tweets from teammates and fans and trying very, very hard not to text Bitty.

It’s more difficult than he expects. Jack’s never liked texting–or email, or talking over the phone, if he’s honest–but Bitty’s changed that, too, he supposes.

He manages to hold out for an admirably long time, but eventually he gives up and picks up his phone, scrolls to Bitty’s name in his texts. _Can’t wait to see you today,_ he types quickly, then hits send and turns his phone off before he can see a response.

“Hey,” Shitty calls from downstairs. “You ready to leave?”

Jack stands up, looks around on the bed to be sure he hasn’t left anything, then takes a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever’s about to happen. _Now or never,_ he thinks to himself.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” he says, stepping out the door.

 

\---

 

It’s barely 1 PM when they pull into the parking lot, so nobody is there yet when he and Shitty step out of the car. The walk to the door is silent, the tap of their shoes on the pavement unbearably loud.

When Shitty opens the door, Jack braces himself for the rush of stale air that he’s become used to. Bitty loves the church and it’s beautiful, really, but it's dark and smells like old wood, and it always makes Jack feel a little claustrophobic when he steps inside, like he’s taking up too much space.

This time, though, when Jack looks inside, the tiny hallway of the church is scrubbed clean. All the windows are thrown open, letting in the warm summer air. It smells like sunlight, and wood, and it reminds Jack, inexplicably, of Bitty.

He turns to Shitty. “When did you–when did this happen?”

Shitty shrugs. “Couldn’t let you get married with cobwebs falling on your hair.” He leans in too, inspecting the high corners of the ceiling. “It’s really not that hard to get done. Just gotta call in a few favors. Lots of people are ready to help Bob Zimmermann’s son get married.” Turning to look down the hall, he jerks his chin in that direction. “Speaking of.”

Jack turns, too, sees his parents walking down the hall towards them. “Jack!” his mother calls, her heels clicking on the floor, and Jack lifts a hand to wave.

“Hi, _maman,_ ” he says when she gets close enough for him to hug her, her arms strong and tight around his chest.

“Hi yourself,” she says. “How are you feeling? Have you eaten yet? You remembered the rings, right?”

“ _Maman_ , one question at a time–”

She grins, pulling back so she can look Jack in the eye. “Too excited for my own good, I suppose,” she says. “What about you? Are you nervous?”

Jack tries for a smile. “Of course not,” he says, a little unconvincingly.

“Well, I was,” his mother says nonchalantly. “Did I ever tell you that I was so nervous on my wedding day that I forgot everything I was going to wear at home? My mother had to go back and get my dress, but she forgot to bring my shoes.” Jack’s mouth twitches, and his mother’s smile widens. “I didn’t even have time to go back and get them before the ceremony began, can you believe it? I got married to your father completely barefoot in the middle of winter.”

“You never told me that story.” Jack’s father is suddenly there, standing behind his wife with a little smile on his face. She sticks her tongue out at him, and it surprises a laugh out of Jack in spite of himself.

“The point being, Jack,” she says, turning back to him, “that it’s normal to be nervous, and also that no matter what happens, you can’t mess up today worse than I did on my wedding day.” She looks back at her husband for a second, the corner of her mouth tilting up fondly. “And even with all of that, we turned out pretty well anyways," she says softly. "Or we must have, if we were lucky enough to end up with a son like you.”

There’s a sudden lump in Jack’s throat, and he has to swallow hard around it before he's ready to speak again. “Thanks,” he finally says. “I–thank you.”

She squeezes him again, tightly. “You should go get ready,” she says. “We’ll stop bothering you now, alright?”

Then she lets go and walks away, and then his dad is there in front of him, both of them standing quietly looking at each other.

Finally, his dad reaches up and adjusts his tie, tucks it down a little smoother into his waistcoat. “Today’s the big day, huh?” he asks.

Jack nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

His dad looks at him for a second longer, then suddenly, pulls him into a tight hug. For a second, Jack is almost too surprised to move; then he reaches up and wraps his arms around his dad, too, resting his forehead lightly on his shoulder.

“I’m proud of you,” his dad says softly, into his ear. “I’m–Jack, I’m glad that he makes you so happy.” He pulls back, and for the first time, Jack realizes that they’re almost the same height now; that he can easily look his father in the eye now. He looks older, with more gray streaking his hair, but the lines around his eyes are softer, more gentle now. “I’m glad he can make you smile like that.”

Jack has to blink against the sudden wave of heat behind his eyes, biting his tongue hard. He nods, because he doesn’t trust his voice to not crack.

His dad smiles again. Squeezes his shoulder gently. “We’ll leave you to it, then,” he says, and Jack’s mother walks over, takes his father’s hand. “We’ll see you in a little while, Jack.”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice still a little shaky. “I–yeah. I’ll see you.”

His mother waves again, and the two of them walk off down the hall. Jack watches them go for a second, before turning to Shitty.

Shitty doesn’t say anything, but pushes off the wall and starts walking down the hall. Jack falls into step next to him easily, and the two of them walk in silence down the long hallway, listening to the breeze through the leaves and quiet birdsong from outside.

It takes Jack a second, but he realizes that for the first time today, the pit of nerves in his stomach is finally silent.

 

\---

 

Shitty leaves him alone in the dressing room for a little while he makes some calls and deals with all the people trickling in, carrying food and presents and flowers. Jack offers to help, but Shitty waves him off. “It’s your wedding, I’m not gonna make you carry shit around,” he tells Jack. “Besides, you’re nervous enough that you’d probably drop the cake and break someone’s face open.”

Jack can’t really argue with that, so he keeps himself inside, pacing around the room when he can’t sit still on the couch any longer. He watches the clock tick forwards, counting down the seconds in his head. Stares out the window, at the wall. It’s too hot, so he takes his coat off, then shrugs it back on because he doesn’t want it to get wrinkled before Bitty sees him. He’s trying not to imagine Bitty’s reaction when they see each other, but the longer he’s in here, the harder it is to make himself not wonder. If Bitty’s going to smile, or cry, or worse–and Jack doesn’t let himself dwell on this one very long, but even after he pushes it away, it’s still there in the back of his mind–if his face will fall for a second like it always does when he’s disappointed, before he can fix a smile back on.

The idea that he might disappoint Bitty is enough to make Jack’s hands start shaking again, no matter how much he tries to calm himself down.

They’re supposed to do the first look at 2:00. It’s 1:57 now. Jack leans down and looks at himself in the mirror again, straightening out his suit and re-tucking in his shirt.

Finally, there’s a knock on the door. When he opens it, Ransom and Holster both push through the doorway at the same time and nearly tackle him onto the couch, both talking a mile a minute. It takes nearly a minute for them to disentangle themselves from him, laughing the entire time.

“Shit, man, you’re getting married–”

“Dude, everyone’s here, I just saw Lardo and Chowder and Johnson’s somewhere around here, I don’t know where but he was somewhere out there–”

“You guys are going to crush me,” Jack says, but he can’t help smiling even as they help him up off the couch and yank him into a tight hug. Holster snorts.

“If you can’t handle this, Bitty’s gonna fucking crush your ribs when he sees you, man,” he says, and Rans nods into Jack’s shoulder, although he does loosen his hold a little bit.

Jack straightens up a little. “Is Bitty here? Did you guys see him?”

Holster snorts again, a little louder, and Rans smacks him on the back, which Jack would appreciate more if Rans wasn't laughing harder than Holster was. When he finally calms down enough to talk, he says, “We saw him on our way in. Asked about you, too, wanted to see you.”

“We told him he had to wait until first look,” Holster says, “since it was his idea to do a first look anyways and Nursey brought a good camera so we could get pictures–”

As if on cue, Nursey pushes the door open. “Hey,” he says, lifting a hand to wave at Jack. “Shitty sent me to tell you guys to get your shit together and get Jack out of here.” He pauses. “That’s a direct quote, by the way.”

Rans looks up at the clock. “Oh, shit,” he says, “fuck, I lost track of the time–” Out of one of his pockets, he pulls out a long strip of fabric. “Close your eyes,” he tells Jack, and before Jack has time to react, he’s tying the fabric around Jack’s head while Holster holds it in place, his fingers pressed against Jack’s temples.

“What are you–”

“Can’t let you see Bitty too early, right?” Holster says, as Rans finishes tying the knot behind his head and they both help him stand up, holding onto his shoulders. Jack can vaguely see a shadow moving in front of his face, and then Nursey says, his voice very close, “Can you see me?”

“What?”

“He’s waving his hand in front of your face,” Rans supplies helpfully. “You can’t see it, I guess.” There’s the sound of a high five behind him. “Nice knot-tying, dude,” Holster says.

Nursey laughs. “Let’s get outta here before Dex takes my head off,” he says, and Jack hears the squeak of the door opening as Rans and Holster push him forwards, one on either side of him.

“Jesus, man, relax,” Holster says, squeezing his shoulder. “It’s fucking hard to move you when you’re fighting us.”

The nerves in his stomach are back, live wire endings that send electric shocks through him every time he moves, but he forces himself to let his shoulders relax anyways.

“There we go,” Rans says, from his other side, and Jack makes himself take slow, deep breaths against the edge of anxiety itching at the side of his mind. _It’s going to be okay._

They steer him down a lot of hallways, until he hears the sound of a door opening, and Rans and Holster push him forwards into a bright room. There’s scattered cheering as Jack walks inside. He recognizes Lardo’s voice, and Chowder’s, and then, above it all, Bitty’s laughter, cutting through all the noise in the room. The sound makes something in his chest relax, just as it sends a shock through his stomach, almost painfully.

“A little bit farther,” Rans says, giving him another nudge. On the other side of the room, he can hear Bitty being led forwards, too, him and Chowder talking in voices that are too low for him to hear.

Technically, this–the first look–was Bitty’s idea. “It might make us less nervous,” he’d pointed out. “Like if we see each other for the first time before the wedding, when no one else is watching. So it’s more private.”

“I thought you didn’t want to see me before the wedding?”

Bitty had blushed. “Well,” he’d said. “I also don’t want to start crying in front of everyone,” and Jack had laughed then, wrapping his arms around Bitty.

Now, though, with how his hands are trembling, he can't help but be grateful that Bitty pushed through with this. He’s not entirely sure that if he were in front of everyone right now, he could guarantee that his knees wouldn't give out.

“Okay, stop walking,” Shitty says, breaking Jack out of his thoughts. Rans and Holster let go of his shoulders, and for a second, Jack nearly wobbles, unmoored. He grips his wrist to steady himself.

“Ready?” Lardo asks, and he hears Bitty giggle nervously, right in front of him. It makes a new wave of sharp nervousness rise in his stomach, his nails digging into his palms for a second. _Relax._

“Yeah,” he finally says, licking his lips. A pair of hands come up behind him, working at the knot in the blindfold. In front of him, he can hear Dex and Nursey arguing quietly about how to untie Bitty’s blindfold.

“For fuck’s sake, just let me–”

“You’re literally taking forever, give it to me–”

“Jesus Christ,” Lardo mutters, and then Jack’s blindfold is off, soft in his hands, and for a moment he has to squint against the bright light.

“Okay, Jesus, it’s untied,” Dex is saying, and Jack looks up–

His eyes lock with Bitty’s.

For a second, Jack’s hands clutch the fabric of the blindfold. He’s frozen stock-still; can’t tear his eyes away from Bitty.

Bitty’s hand comes up to cover his mouth. His eyes are so, so wide and soft. “Oh,” he says softly. “Oh, Jack.”

Jack’s throat is too tight. He swallows once, twice. His chest feels constricted, filled to bursting with warmth and relief. He can’t find any words, not with Bitty here in front of him, bright and perfect enough that it nearly hurts with how much Jack loves him.

Bitty’s eyes crinkle, his shoulders shaking, and he’s crying but also laughing, tears running down his cheeks. “Jack, oh my god,” he says. “You–you look–” is all he manages before he breaks off, shaking his head.

Jack can’t say anything. All he can manage is to reach for him, and then Bitty’s in his arms, small and solid and fitted perfectly against him, his head tucked tightly under Jack’s chin and his arms wrapped around his chest. “Jack,” Bitty is saying, muffled against Jack’s chest, and Jack squeezes his eyes shut, warmth stinging at his eyes. When he takes a breath, it comes out wavering, and he holds onto Bitty tighter to steady himself.

“Bitty,” he says hoarsely, then clears his throat. “Bitty. You–”

“Yeah,” Bitty says, his voice cracking, and he has to pull back to wipe at his eyes with one hand. “Jack–” he laughs, still teary-eyed. “We’re–we’re getting married.”

That makes Jack laugh, and he wipes his own eyes with one sleeve. “I–yeah,” he says, laughing shakily. “I figured that part out on my own.” Stepping back, he looks–actually looks–at Bitty for the first time. He’s in a dark blue suit, with a bowtie the same color as Jack’s tie. Jack thinks he got his hair cut, or at least done in a salon. He licks his lips. “You–you look good,” he finally says. “Really good.” It seems inadequate, but he honestly can’t find any other words.

Bitty is staring at him, too, taking in Jack. “You too,” he says finally, looking up at Jack as a tiny hint of red creeps into his cheeks.

For a minute, they stand there staring at each other awkwardly. Then Bitty starts to giggle, then laugh, and Bitty laughing always makes Jack laugh, and before he knows it they’re both holding each other again, laughing and crying at the same time.

“I’ve missed you,” Bitty says softly, and Jack wraps his arms more tightly around him, buries his face in his hair and wonders what he ever did to deserve someone like Bitty. He can’t swallow away the constriction in his throat enough to really speak, so he bends to Bitty’s ear and whispers, “I love you, too.”

There’s nothing more to say, so he just holds tight to Bitty, closing his eyes and letting his scent anchor him, ground him like it always does. For the first time today, he feels the stress melt out of him. Everything will be okay, he thinks, because Bitty’s here in his arms, and nothing else could matter more to Jack in this second.

They’d planned forty minutes for this, but it feels like less than five to Jack, standing there holding onto Bitty for the first time in what feels like weeks. When Lardo finally checks her watch and tells them gently that the ceremony’s starting soon, Shitty has to physically steer Jack back to his dressing room. “You need to get ready,” he says over Jack and Bitty’s protests. “Ceremony’s in fifteen minutes! Don’t be late.”

As soon as they get back to the room, Shitty shoves Jack down in a chair while he goes through his checklist, running in and out of the room getting people in place and giving last-minute orders. It’s sort of exhausting watching him, actually. Jack finds himself clutching his fists automatically, has to push himself to relieve the tension in his shoulders and neck, take deep breaths to calm the anxiety in his stomach.

Finally, Shitty slaps his shoulder, sitting down next to him on the couch with a thud. “Everything’s set,” he says. “You feeling good?”

“Yeah.” Jack swallows, rubbing at the side of his neck. “It’s–I’m fine.”

Shitty looks at him a second longer, then stands up. “‘Kay, well, I’m not gonna keep annoying you, then.” With one hand, he tugs at Jack’s tie, straightening it out. “I’ll be back in ten to come get you.” Giving Jack a final slap on his shoulder, he steps outside, the door closing with a click behind him.

And then Jack’s alone in the dressing room, fiddling with his hands and staring at the wall. He tugs at his tie. It's lopsided, a little bit. He unties it and redoes it. The only sound in the room is the hum of the fluorescent lights on the ceiling and around the mirror. He leans in a little closer, looks at himself in the mirror. Wishes Bitty was here.

He picks up his phone, turns it on. The Falconers logo stares up at him from the screen. Before he can switch it back off, though, it pings with a new text message.

 

3:51 PM

From: Kent Parson

_congrats on the wedding man_

_enjoy the rest of today_

 

Parse doesn't normally text him much. Trash talk before games, sure, and congratulations after the Falconers won the Stanley Cup, but neither he nor Jack are the sort of people who are any good at talking over a phone.

He considers not answering it, but only for a second; for better or worse, he and Parse have been through too much for him to be petty about anything today. They’ve both fucked each other over in their own ways, enough for a lifetime. And if this how they're going to try and start patching together this thing between them–

Well. Jack’s not going to get in the way of that.

_Thanks,_ he  types. _Means a lot._ For a second, he sits there, staring at the flickering cursor; then, before he can change his mind, he hits Send.

He watches the little blue bar creep across the top of the screen. _Message delivered._

Jack closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. His chest muscles feel more relaxed, his ribs looser with something he can't really name.

He hits the home button; then, impulsively, scrolls right until he's on the last page. The only thing there is a dictionary app in the top left corner, so it's easy to see the picture underneath: Bitty, laughing in his bakery early in the morning, a light coat of flour dusting his hair and the bridge of his nose. There's a ray of light coming in through the window that lands right on his left hand, braced against the counter. Jack still remembers taking the photo, how the flash of Bitty’s ring nearly blinded him.

It used to be his lock screen, but every time he would open his phone for something, Bitty’s smile would distract him from whatever he was supposed to be doing. So it's here now, hidden behind walls and walls of apps, but always there when Jack needs it. He can almost hear Bitty laughing when he looks at it, bright in the early morning quiet; can almost see him trying to wipe the flour off with a powder-covered hand, smearing more onto his face by accident. Even in the picture, Bitty looks so alive, like he's going to look up at Jack any second and chirp him for taking so many photos, grab his wrist with a flour-covered hand and pull him into a kiss.

The door clicks, and Jack sits up, locking his phone. Shitty pokes his head in. “You ready?” he asks.

Jack sets his phone down on the counter. Looks at himself in the mirror one last time, and takes a deep breath. “Yeah.”

Shitty holds the door open. “Let's make it happen.”

 

\---

 

Jack is 100% sure he’s about to throw up.

Well, technically, he’s only 99% sure, because there’s always a chance that he’ll pass out, or have a panic attack, or maybe do all three at once. Probably the last one, based on how hard he’s shaking right now. The church doors look taller than they did this morning, and more terrifying than he can ever remember them being. His stomach twists just looking at them.

As if on cue, Shitty puts a hand on his shoulder. “You doing okay?”

Jack licks his lips. “Never better,” he says, and Shitty is a good enough friend to not call him out on his bullshit.

“You still want to go through with this?”

The answer comes out without hesitation. “Of course.”

Shitty squeezes his shoulder hard. Inside the door, he can hear the crowd settling down, the priest starting to talk. “Well, it’s showtime, man,” Shitty says.

The doors swing open as the first strains of music begin to play.

For a second, Jack is frozen in place. He feels his heart skip a beat, almost painfully. His legs won’t work; he feels rooted to the spot, breath caught in his throat.

Shitty gives him a little push. “Go,” he hisses, and Jack does robotically, looking straight ahead as he heads down the aisle. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see friends, old teachers, teammates, but he can’t turn his head–can’t do anything except concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other.

He knows that Bitty’s walking the other aisle to his right, but he can’t look up. He can’t. Even though he saw him earlier–even though he’s imagined this a thousand times in his head–he knows that if he looks right now, he won’t be able to take a step further. So he keeps his head forwards, past his parents and Bitty’s parents in the front row until he reaches the altar where Rans and Holster are standing, along with Dex and Nursey. Nursey gives him a surreptitious thumbs-up, and it manages to get a smile out of Jack.

Bitty’s not at the altar yet. Jack stares at his shoes, biting the inside of his cheek to ground himself against the wild feeling in his chest. Distantly, he hears the soft click of Bitty’s shoes climbing the altar. They come to a stop right in front of him, but Jack still doesn’t let himself lift his head, even when the music stops and the church goes silent.

It’s only when he hears Bitty gasp softly that he looks up.

And even after six years, even though he’s already seen Bitty today, even though he’s memorized every inch of Bitty, the way his face lights up when he sees Jack and the weight of his head on Jack’s shoulder and the soft-sleep sound of his voice in the early morning, muffled against Jack’s skin–

Even after all this time, Jack’s breath still catches in his throat.

For a second, he can’t say anything. He’s too busy looking at Bitty. He looks different now in the light streaming through the windows than he did earlier; warmer and soft enough to break Jack’s heart, make something unbearably gentle rise in his chest all over again. The afternoon sun illuminates the curve of Bitty’s cheek, picks out the golden strands shining in his hair. From where Jack’s standing, he almost looks like he's glowing.

Bitty’s eyes are wide and bright. His hands are shaking a little, fiddling with the hem of suit. There’s a lock of hair curling over his forehead, and Jack instinctively reaches out to nudge it into place, the back of his fingers brushing lightly against Bitty’s skin.

Behind him, he hears Shitty snort. The sound breaks the fragile silence in the room; a small ripple of laughter travels through the crowd. Bitty giggles, too, his eyes scrunching up, and reaches up to take Jack’s hand, laces their fingers together. With his other hand, he takes Jack’s other hand, tugs his hands gently until they’re standing with both hands linked at waist level, Bitty’s small hands wrapped around his.

Bitty’s eyes search his face for a second. Jack swallows hard, nervousness flickering bright through his chest for an instant before Bitty smiles, spreading slow and sweet like honey over his face.

“Hi,” he says, his voice soft, and Jack thinks–

Jack thinks he’s never seen anything as beautiful as Bitty in that second.

He swallows hard, licks his lips. “Hi,” he answers shakily, and Bitty’s hands tighten around his for a second. Jack squeezes back, hard, and holds on.

There’s a soft cough from the priest behind them. When Jack turns to her, she smiles. “Shall we begin?” she asks.

The ceremony goes by in a blur. He’s supposed to be paying attention, he knows, but every time he looks at Bitty, he loses track of the priest’s voice. The words blur in his ears; all that matters is the pink in Bitty’s cheeks, the steady flutter of the pulse winging in his neck, the way he steals looks at Jack, smiling almost giddily every time they make eye contact. As far as Jack’s concerned, he couldn’t care less about vows. Not when everything he needs for the rest of his life is right here in front of him, dressed in a dark-blue suit and holding his hands so tightly that his nails are going white.

As if he can hear his thoughts, Bitty squeezes his hands. “Jack?” he asks gently.

The room is silent, Jack realizes, and when he looks at the priest, she’s looking at him expectantly. Vaguely, it occurs to him that it’s probably his turn to say something, but he genuinely has no idea what she’s asked. “I, uh–” he coughs, laughing a little, feeling heat creep into his cheeks. “Sorry, um, I was–could you repeat that?”

There’s a soft ripple of laughter in the crowd, and the priest smiles a little, too, her eyes crinkling. “Don’t worry,” she says to the audience. “Here’s a second chance for all of you who were crying too much earlier to get it on camera for real this time.” Another ripple of laughter travels through the crowd, and Jack sneaks a look back at Bitty. He’s giggling, too, although he makes a valiant attempt to try and hide it when he sees Jack looking.

“Alright, now,” the priest says, as a sudden quiet falls over the room. Jack swallows hard, taking a deep breath as she turns to looks at him.

“Jack Zimmermann,” she says. “Do you take Eric Bittle to be your lawfully-wedded husband, for worse or for better, in sickness or in health, in joy or sorrow, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, from this day forwards?”

For a second, Jack’s throat is too tight to speak. He swallows, closes his eyes for a second. When he answers, his voice shakes in the silence of the church.

“I do.”

The priest turns to Bitty. “And do you, Eric Bittle, take Jack Zimmermann to be your lawfully-wedded husband, for worse or for better, in sickness or in health, in joy or sorrow, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish from this day forwards?”

When Jack looks up, Bitty is looking right at him, steady and sure. His eyes are bright, like he’s about to start crying. “I do,” he says softly.

The priest smiles. “Then by the power vested in me by the state of Rhode Island, it is my honor and delight to declare you married and partners for life, in life.” She pauses, then smiles softly. “You may seal your vows with a kiss.”

There's a moment where he and Bitty just look at each other. Neither of them move. Then, slowly, Jack lifts his hands, cups the back of Bitty’s head. Closes his eyes, and leans in.

Even after all of this time, the feeling of Bitty’s lips against him sends a soft wave of warmth radiating through him. His fingertips tremble where they’re pressed against Bitty’s skin, and Bitty’s arms come up to rest on Jack’s shoulders, pulling him closer. His mouth tastes like the sky after a rainstorm, when everything is too bright to look at straight-on and every breath feels more alive than before. He tastes like maple sugar, like sunlight, and all Jack can think is that from now on, the only thing he will think of when he thinks of the word _home_ is Bitty in this moment, his arms holding Jack together even as he takes him apart, piece by piece.

When Bitty pulls back, Jack’s vaguely aware of the audience cheering in the background–even now, Shitty’s wolf-whistle is unmistakable–but all the noise seems seems distant, muted. There’s a bubble of stillness around both of them, and Jack impulsively leans down to rest his forehead on Bitty’s. He takes a deep breath, pausing for a second. Bitty’s eyes watch him, wide and luminous. “Hey,” Jack finally says, the corner of his mouth tilting up. “We just got married.”

Bitty stares at him for a second, then starts laughing disbelievingly. “You–you’re,” he gasps, between fits of giggles. “An _idiot–”_ he reaches out and grabs Jack, pulling him into a tight hug. Jack can’t help laughing as well, a relieved, open sound that rises out of his throat helplessly. He kisses the crown of Bitty’s head, and Bitty takes a shaky breath.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice a little watery and muffled by the shoulder of Jack’s suit. He’s crying, his shoulders trembling, but he’s laughing, too, little hiccups that burst like bubbles in the air. “We–we just did.”

Jack takes another deep breath and holds Bitty a little tighter. Rests his chin on Bitty’s head and closes his eyes. “Bitty,” he says softly, and it settles in his chest right behind his breastbone, warm and safe for him to hold onto.

“Yeah,” Bitty murmurs, and for the first time the entire day, Jack’s hands don’t shake when he cups Bitty’s face and leans in gently for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Title from a mangled version of "somewhere i have never traveled,gladly beyond" by e. e. cummings, which is a disgustingly Zimbits poem (although at this point, most poems read like Zimbits poems to me because I'm trapped in this hell).


End file.
